


make peace with the stars

by clumsyclouds



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Boys In Love, Declarations Of Love, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Late Night Conversations, Light Angst, M/M, Pillow Talk, Plans For The Future, Post-Canon, Romantic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:07:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23578897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clumsyclouds/pseuds/clumsyclouds
Summary: in a forest by downton village lie two cottages, and when the night is calm, and you're very, very quiet, you might witness two lovers dancing in the moonlight to soft tunes playing from a shiny gramophone.or at least, that's how the dream goes. thomas barrow is still waiting for it.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Richard Ellis
Comments: 6
Kudos: 74





	make peace with the stars

**Author's Note:**

> i want to believe, no, i choose to believe that i was made to become a sanctuary  
> fear won't go away, but i can keep it at bay  
> these invisible walls just might keep us safe
> 
> is it courage or faith to show up every day?  
> to trust that there will be light, always waiting behind even the darkest of nights  
> and no matter what, somehow we'll be okay
> 
> six - sleeping at last

The night after Turton’s and the stolen kiss before Mr. Ellis’ departure didn’t give Mr. Barrow much time to be anything other than in awe. His life becomes revolved around waiting, waiting for the next time their paths may cross. Their line of work doesn’t always permit much time for leisure or means of simply getting away from prying eyes. While he waits, he dreams of the idea of Richard Ellis and cherishes the few memories they have. He holds the gifted pendant so hard it leaves imprints in the palm of his hand. 

Mary asks him what he’s got to smile about while in one of her bad moods. Andy makes a remark about how happy he looks and Mrs. Baxter keeps sending him knowing glances. Even Master George makes a rather peculiar comment. Master George, with childlike innocence asks him if he’s met his Prince Charming. 

“Why do you say that?” he replies, unsure of how to respond to something that could have such dangerous repercussions. 

“Because you’re smiling a lot and Mummy says people only smile when they’ve met their Prince Charming.” He places down another building block in the toy castle he was gifted on his birthday the previous week.

Mr. Barrow doesn’t know how to answer, so he doesn’t. Instead they go downstairs back to Nanny Shaun and he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He doesn’t know what to make of it except that he looks very, very different. Maybe that’s what happiness does to a man?

A month passes and it just so happens that Mr. Barrow has an errand in York at the same time that Mr. Ellis’ stops by to pay his mother a visit. Then, much to everyone’s misfortune, he misses the last train home, and it’s so late that he might as well stay the night in the local pub. He’ll be back by luncheon, he assures Mrs. Hughes over the phone. 

There’s something in the tone of her voice, apprehensive, but not unkind, maybe even understanding, that gives Thomas the impression that she knows. He dreads to think it, but if anyone would keep his secret it would be Mrs. Hughes so he doesn’t worry. Tries not to, anyway. 

No, the worry would’ve been wasted on her, he worries far more about the way Mr. Ellis’ looks at him, all the hidden corners, nooks and crannies that he finds in Mr. Barrow’s eyes. He’s never felt like such an open book, so vulnerable and exposed. He’s never been more terrified and ecstatic in his entire life. For the first time, someone looks at him, sees him,  _ knows _ him. 

Every touch makes his skin tingle and his breath catch. He can’t control himself and it feels like everything he does shows his hand more and more, that Richard can see every flaw possible laid out on a silver platter along with his inner organs and his beating, bleeding heart. 

He promises himself that he will not cry, so he doesn’t. It’s most likely the only thing he’ll be able to control this night. 

It’s dark out, but Thomas can see Richard’s face clear enough in the dim candle light. They could’ve just turned on the bedside lamp, but this makes things decidedly more romantic. Thomas’ fingertips trace over every hill and valley of his face, his temples, tensing and untensing under his touch, his cheekbones, his jaw, his lips. It reminds him of the reality of his situation when it feels so much like a dream or fantasy.

They kiss again, lost to something far grander than mere desire.

“You’re still scared, aren’t you?” Richard whispers against Thomas’ lips. 

“Of what?”

“Of me, of this.” His hand sifts through tussled up hair, rests on the back of his neck and pulls their foreheads together. “You don’t have to be. I promise to keep you safe.”   
  


There’s a funny sort of aching at hearing the words, he feels it starting in his toes and reverberating throughout his chest and into his fingertips. 

“Why would you do that?”

“Because I love you.”

The breath stops in his chest, and he can barely manage a surprised puff of breath. How can he say that like it’s a simple thing? Sure enough, they’re alone, no one could possibly be awake at this hour and not even God can hear them now, surely, but still it doesn’t feel safe. To be frank, it doesn’t feel like it will ever be safe and oh, Richard Ellis is such a good thing. Thomas never gets to keep anything good that comes his way.

“I wasn’t aware you felt such things. Well, not for me, anyway.”

“Of course I do, and you love me, too, when you’re feeling brave. This is what love feels like, Thomas. It doesn’t matter what they try to tell us.”

He chuckles, half-way cynical, half-way humorous. “Oh, really? I thought this was a brotherly relationship.”

Richard rolls his eyes, smile easily playing at his still rosy, slightly puffed lips. “You can be really disgusting when you want to.”

“Not much to say, really. I was born that way.”

The smile slightly fades. “And now you’re just being cynical.”

Just like that, the mood shifts and the ever present dark cloud rolls in over his head. Thomas rolls onto his back and immediately feels the cold, feels the pure longing that overwhelms him just by moving a few inches away from Richard. 

“But haven’t I earned that right? After everything I’ve put myself through? After every bad lot the world has handed me?”

“You have every right to hate the world, and so do I, but we can’t.”

“Why not?”

Richard grasps Thomas’ hand, softly kisses his fingertips and knuckles and then hold his hand close to his chest. Thomas reminds himself of his promise not to cry as his eyes begin to sting, the lump in his throat growing.

“Because we live on borrowed time. Every minute we go free, every second in which we love is stolen, but when we hate the world we build our own prison. If every day is living hell, then what’s the point?”

_ My life is a prison regardless, _ he thinks, but see the reason in it frustratingly enough. All his memories are poisoned by pain and anger and emptiness. The only few happy moments he can recall are those of kindness, where the world released him momentarily from the burden he’s been destined to carry for all his life. He’ll add this night to the latter part. 

If the future is anything like this night, this moment where he is right now, then that’s where he wants to go. It’s the only path where he can see himself surviving. 

“How do you always make these things make sense?”

Richard smiles. “I’m really clever.”

“You are.” 

He means it, he really means it, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt this kind-hearted. The  _ world _ has never felt so kind-hearted, not to him. Never been so gentle as tonight. This must be love, like Richard said, it simply must be. He’s felt affection, attraction, care, friendship even, but never this, never fairytale love. All his life, he thought that was just something people made up to make themselves feel better about being stuck with one person for the rest of their life. 

The air of the room is cold compared to them lying chest-to-chest, so Thomas sneaks back in, presses a light kiss to Richard’s lips again, and again, and again. Perhaps he’ll never stop. What a dream.

“You know, in a couple of years, when I’m inevitably released from my duties for someone younger and sharper, I will take the money I’ve saved up, along with my mother’s inheritance if such should be the case, and I will move to Downton. I’ll get a little cottage by the forest and grow a beautiful garden. There’ll be another little cottage down the road, too, standing empty. I’ll have chickens, cats, dogs, geese and all sorts.”

Once more, he reminds himself not to cry. “What’ll you grow in the garden?” His voice  _ almost _ doesn’t wobble, and so, considers it a victory. 

“Oh, sunflowers, gerberas, petunias, dahlias, carnations, roses, snapdragons. Of course, I’ll grow tomatoes and cucumbers as well when the season comes around. Herbs, too.”

  
“And the little cottage down the road?”

Richard smiles, once more kissing Thomas’ hand and then kissing his forehead. “Well, I’ll tend to it, keep it clean. Perhaps someone will want to move into it someday.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice,” he says, feels his breath leave him as his eyes flutter shut. 

“That, it would.”

Thomas Barrow, butler at Downton, living in a cottage, and Richard Ellis, former valet for the King, lives down the road. Flowers grow all around them and animals thrive in the nearby woods. Not what he’d imagined for himself, but maybe that’s a good thing? Maybe his prospects need to change. Maybe love changes things.

“I’m not always a good person.” He blurts it out without even thinking twice, which is unusual of him, but it’s out there, between them. The words are bitter on his tongue and Baxter’s words come to mind. 

_ You’re your own worst enemy. _

Better a spoiled fantasy than a spoiled life. He’s ruined so many people and he can’t bring himself to ruin Richard, as well. 

“How so?”

The words get stuck, like there’s something lodged in his throat, preventing him from speaking. Maybe it’s his sense of self preservation suddenly kicking in. “I’ve not always done the right thing.”

“Has anyone?”

“I mean bad things, cruel things.”

“Do you still do them?”

Thomas doesn’t want to answer, but he still refuses to cry. “Sometimes. I don’t always realise until it’s too late.”

“Do you want to stop?” Somehow, the kindness has not yet dissipated from his eyes, still watching Thomas intently, still smoothing capable hands over the exposed skin of his shoulders and chest.

He nods, for lack of words.

Richard smiles, kisses the tip of his nose and closes his eyes. “That’s alright, then.”

Is that it? Is that all he wants to know? He shifts under the sheets, watches Richard’s face relax and soften even further. 

“It’s late,” he says, as if he can sense Thomas’ anxiety, and maybe he can. 

“But—”

“I think you’re more cruel to yourself than to others.” His eyes open half-way, and even then they see more of Thomas than anyone ever has.

They see a little boy, scared of being rejected by his first love. They see someone small, someone who missteps, who breaks and who breaks others. They see all the hopelessness and misfortune, and they still don’t look away. They rest on his face like it’s easy and Thomas lets himself dream that it really  _ is _ easy to care about him. 

“Will you tell me more about the cottage?” he whispers. 

Richard turns backwards and blows out the candle on the bedside table, then moves onto his back. “Come lie here.”

Carefully, he maneuvers himself so that Thomas’ cheek rests against his chest and he closes his eyes, feels Richard’s thumb brush across his knuckles, soft like silk. 

“When it’s windless and warm I’ll light a little bonfire in the front and play a few tunes on the guitar. I’ll sing love songs, of course. One day I’ll buy a gramophone and play all sorts of slow songs to dance to.”

“Who will you be dancing with?” 

Richard laughs, quiet and soft. “I don’t know. Whoever comes along. Until then I guess I’ll be dancing on my own. Though, I’ve heard of pretty boys roaming around near Downton. Maybe I’ll run into one of them? Oh, it’ll be so lovely. I’ll ask him in for tea, show him my garden and introduce him to Millie, my black kitten with white little socks and bright green eyes. She’ll look like a butler almost. Atlas, my light brown pitbull, will jump up into his lap, begging for attention. Then we’ll dance until the sun sets and rises again, until our feet ache and until the gramophone breaks, and then some more.”

“It all sounds rather lovely,” Thomas whispers, feels sleeping bringing him away into the veil as the world fades around him.

He hums in agreement and pulls the sheets further up and whispers softly, so softly in response, “Oh, doesn’t it just?”

**Author's Note:**

> the movie was everything i could have ever asked for, especially when it came to thomas, i'm so happy he got his happy ending and i wanted to write a little soft piece about it. comments/kudos are very much appreciated!!


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